Page 208 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

He looked down at his hand on her arm. Her hand hung limp, her body stiff with discomfort. He released her slowly, watching her arm fall back to her side.

He smiled again; warm, harmless, perfectly composed.

“Hey, maybe after we win the tournament, I can bring you to meet the girls. We stay close by. I’m sure after five weeks, they’ll be better adjusted.”

And just like that, he planted the seed.

It hurt.

Gods, it hurt.

To even consider that Wren; fierce, loyal, stubborn Wren, might be acting as an informant. But he couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. Her behaviour mirrored the Red army’s techniques too closely. The emotional masking. The rehearsed questions. The sudden distance. The fear.

And the flicker of excitement in her eyes—the one she tried to bury—confirmed what he didn’t want to believe.

But he refused to accept it fully.

Not yet.

Not until he had proof.

“That would be great!” Wren chirped, her smile too bright, too stiff. She turned to Jay. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Jay sighed, oblivious, and leaned in to steal a goodbye hug from Rain before jogging after her.

“See you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder.

Rain watched them go, his chest tight with a mix of dread and heartbreak.

After the rest of the team dispersed, Rain lingered. He needed to train; needed to burn off the tension coiled inside him. He missed Raymon’s early morning sessions more than he’d ever admit. Missed the grounding. Missed the clarity. Missed the friend he wasn’t sure he could trust anymore.

When he finally finished, sweat cooling on his skin, Rain made his way toward the boarded-up bookshop.

If answers existed anywhere; they would be here.

He waited until the street was clear, blending into the shadows as he approached the abandoned storefront. The boarded windows loomed like blind eyes, the peeling paint catching faint glimmers of afternoon light. Rain moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had broken into far more dangerous places than this. His hand wrapped around the cold brass handle; the metal biting against his warm skin, while his other hovered just above the lock. He channelled his power into the mechanism, feeling the tumblers shift beneath his influence, the old metal surrendering to him with a soft, obedient click.

The lock gave way.

The old bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside; a brittle, delicate sound that echoed through the stillness like a memory. It chimed again as the door closed behind him, the second ring somehow lonelier than the first.

The shop was exactly as he’d left it.

But the air felt different.

Stagnant.

Paused.

As though the entire space had been holding its breath, waiting for him to return.

Dust motes drifted lazily through the slanted beams of light filtering in from the cracks in the boarded windows. Shelves sagged beneath the weight of forgotten tomes, their spines faded and curling. The faint scent of old paper and wood polish clung to the air—familiar, comforting—but beneath it lurked something else.

Magic prickled at his senses; sharp, electric, irresistible. It thrummed through the room like a heartbeat, vibrating faintly against his skin. His blood reacted instantly, humming with recognition, urging him forward with a pull that felt both ancient and intimate.

He froze.

Instinct took over.